Zero Two Three One | John Laurens X Reader [Hamilton]

LXXII: Nineteen Shades of Red

❝Gods have bloody hands.❞
—Janet Morris

It's some celebrity's birthday or something, I don't fucking know or fucking care. Some rich bitch is going to be busting it up at the largest and the most extravagant rooftop pool in Los Angeles. 

So here's the schtick: all the biggest celebrities were invited, including Alexander and me. But James is going to be there, so I do not want to go. I would've just silently not gone, but James had asked me if I was going. I said yes, and so we said it would be a "date".

He's going to be pissed when I'm not there. I heard he already told a bunch of his celebrity friends about our "date", so this is going to be extra embarrassing for him.

As for Alexander...

"I wish you weren't going," I pout, sealing the top of Alexander's coffee mug and setting it on the kitchen counter.

"Frankly, neither do I, but it's one of Eliza's best friends' birthday and Eliza really wants me to be there," Alexander calls out from the living room. 

"You could pretend to be sick," I suggest.

"Eh, not a good enough excuse." 

"Who the hell even has a pool party in December?"

"Self-important, self-absorbed, rich people... I think it's warm in LA, (Y/N)." Alexander comes marching into the kitchen with a suit jacket over his shoulder and his dress shirt only half-way buttoned up, but his hair is neatly styled and his aura radiates with maturity. Alexander holds up two ties. "Red or black?"

"Black... You know, you don't have to wear a suit to the airport, Alexander."

"If I get spotted, then people will take pictures of me," Alexander coos, buttoning up his shirt and popping up the collar to do the tie. "I want to look good."

I roll my eyes. "'Course you do." I stride to him and brush aside a strand of his auburn hair. "First class, huh? Don't drink on the flight."

"No promises. It's a six-hour flight to LA, (Y/N). What else am I supposed to do?"

"Read?"

"And a martini goes really good with some political theory. Trust me." Alexander slides on his suit jacket, adjusting the cuffs before showing me two bottles of cologne. "Which one smells better?"

I have a good whiff of each, my senses tingling as the rich scents excite my heart. "Second one."

I step back as Alexander sprays on the cologne, his eyes remaining trained on me. "People will be expecting you there."

"I know."

"Even Reynolds thinks you're going to be there. You're not going to tell him the truth?"

"No way," I scoff. "Then he'll ask me to do some social stunt. I'd rather stay here."

"Huh, good point. So why aren't you coming to LA again?"

"Because James Monroe is going to be there."

"Right," Alexander clicks his tongue. "Good enough for me."

"Don't tell anyone that I'm purposefully ditching the party; I don't need to make any more enemies."

"Right, I'll just tell them that you're busy eating ice cream and watching romcoms at home."

"Seriously, Alexander!" I groan and follow him as he saunters back into the living room. "You're going to tell me if people talk shit about me, right?"